A Fresh Start
by RipperShipper
Summary: A conversation in the late hours of Patrick and Shelagh's engagement takes an interesting turn. (Based on a tumblr prompt! Thank you, anon!)


**A Fresh Start**

 **Summary:** Based on a tumblr prompt sent by anon. A conversation in the late hours of Patrick and Shelagh's engagement takes an interesting turn.

 **A/N:** Thanks for the prompt, anon! This fic is from a prompt that someone dropped in my ask box. P.S., I'M SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER, ANON! I'm very intrigued by it! It's arguably an OOC prompt, but I'm going to do my best to keep it as close to probable as possible. That said, it's fiction and we know very little about Shelagh pre-series, so FLOOR IS MINE, HEIDI. Prompt at the end of the fic to avoid spoilers. MANY KETTLES.

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

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It started off innocently, just like so many other nights of their engagement. An outsider would have assumed they were already married from how settled their routine had become since Timothy's return from the hospital. Perhaps their comfort was a contributing factor to the rebirth of idle gossip, but the couple wouldn't have traded it for the world. There had been so much grief and mental agony in the past year, but now? Now they had things they found pure joy in: tucking Timothy in together, the lingering smell of a home cooked meal, and most of all, the few moments they stole before he took Shelagh home.

While those moments had certainly been growing longer as their engagement progressed, it wasn't just the promise of kisses that had both Patrick and Shelagh waiting in anticipation (though, the kisses didn't hurt). The time between Tim falling asleep and the two of them resigning themselves to Shelagh's departure had become sacred. It was as if the rest of the world knew they needed a moment and kept the chaos at bay. Even the dreaded ringing of the phone rarely interrupted them, though both Shelagh and Patrick suspected that was more to do with Sister Julienne not-so-secretly phoning locums in the evenings instead of Kenilworth Row. Either way, they were more than grateful for the time. They'd denied themselves a proper courtship before and both were giddy at the prospect of making up for it.

Patrick realized he must have been daydreaming longer than he thought about just how they would make up for it that night when he felt Shelagh cuddle up next to him on the couch.

"Timothy's asleep." she spoke fondly. "He drifted off rather quickly, I thought you said he was full of chatter."

Patrick rolled his eyes. "He's already playing favorites. He did this with Marianne too."

"Oh?" Shelagh asked with a grin.

"Yes." Patrick sighed. "Bouncing off the walls with me and then out in seconds with a bit of persuasion from his mother. Apparently he missed it…I suppose it's a sign he's comfortable with you, though. I certainly don't blame him for that." He stole a quick kiss and delighted in the blush that crept up her cheeks.

"Oh, Patrick, I'm sure he just tired himself out is all." Patrick noticed her push the compliment aside, but let it be. If he's learned anything over their engagement, it was that Shelagh had to come to accept things on her own terms and no amount of prodding from him was going to do her much good. He could reassure her on a daily basis that Tim loved her, but she would have to come to see just how much in her own time. He didn't mind. Her stubborn humility was one of the first things that drew him to her.

"And what about you?" he asked. "Are you feeling tired? Should I drive you back?"

Shelagh shyly smirked. He always asked her and she always answered the same way.

"Not quite yet." she spoke softly. On other nights, this might have lead to further conversation, but there was something in the air and Shelagh let herself be drawn forward eagerly as Patrick pulled her lips towards his. She sighed happily as he deepened the kiss and her fingers crept their way up to rest against his collar and gently pull at the buttons. He fought the urge to chuckle. She wasn't bold enough to completely remove his shirt, but he'd noticed her love of popping the top few buttons open. His own hand slid down her side and caressed her hip through her dress. She moaned quietly into his mouth and he dared dip a tad lower, letting his fingers just brush against her backside. Her hand that cupped the back of his neck yanked him forward and he had to bite back a growl as he gave in and dug his fingers into the soft flesh beneath them.

Before he had the sense to stop himself, he was pushing her down into the couch cushions; lips frantically working to stay sliding against hers.

It was only when Shelagh felt him, hard and pressed against her center through his trousers, that she realized what they'd done and she pushed him away.

"We have to stop!" she gasped. Patrick paled; he'd gone way too far.

"I...I'm so sorry, Shelagh. I should never have…" he shook his head, devastated at the advantage he'd taken. "I'll get my coat, I'll take you straight home."

She caught his sleeve before he could walk away. "No! I mean, not just yet." she fretted with the hem of her skirt. "Could - could we talk?"

Patrick made his way back to the couch in trepidation. That question never boded well for him.

"Of course we can." he assured. "Shelagh, I promise you, I will never do anything like that again. I should've been more responsible." He dared look into her eyes, but he wasn't met with the disappointment he expected. Instead, she looked...frightened? Oh god, he'd scared her. "Shelagh, please, I'm sorry."

"It's not that." she whispered. Her hands were shaking, but he didn't feel brave enough to touch her again.

"Okay," he tried to breathe, "can you tell me what it is?"

Shelagh muttered something under her breath so quietly he wasn't sure she even intended him to hear her.

"Darling?" he asked gently. He dared place his hand on top of one of hers and was relieved when she didn't pull away.

"I don't want you to leave me." she whispered. His gaze shot up and he ached at the tears forming in her eyes.

"Shelagh, what on earth would make you even say such a thing?" he asked fearfully. "If anything, I should think you had the right to leave after my barbaric display."

"No, Patrick, that's just it." she insisted, though her voice was still barely audible. "I didn't mind it." Relief flooded his system.

"Love, forgive me for saying this, but I believe that's a _good_ thing-"

"No, no, that's not what I meant!" she snapped before taking a breath and pulling her hand back to her lap. "I'm not pure, Patrick." he stared in confusion.

"What do you mean?" he asked honestly.

"I mean," she felt a tear escape her attempts to hold it back, "there is a real reason I didn't get a white dress…"

She let the implication fall and waited for Patrick to start shouting, but he didn't. She wasn't sure if the silence was worse, but she couldn't bear to look at him to see his response. Eventually, he spoke.

"When?" he simply asked. She hated that she couldn't hear anger in his voice. The thought of disappointment or hurt was far more painful.

"When I was a recovery nurse before I became a postulant." she admitted. "It was just once."

"Did you love him?" The question seared her.

"No." she replied. "I thought I did at the time, but, well, I know now that that's not what it was." she paused. "You're not yelling at me."

"I have no reason to yell at you, Shelagh." he promised. "I will admit, I'm curious and, possibly more than a little surprised-"

"I'm so sorry, Patrick." she cried. He moved closer to her on the couch and gently pulled her against him so he could hold her.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he assured, "and you're certainly not the only one with secrets from the war."

"What-"

"Another time." he insisted. He meant it, he would tell her about Northfield, but not now.

"You're not disgusted with me?" she asked earnestly.

"Of course not." he promised into her hair as his hand rubbed comforting circles on her back. "May I ask you something?" she nodded against his chest. "Why only once? I know it seems an odd question, but you said you thought you loved him and then you became a postulant and well, I feel there's a bit I'm missing. Please understand, if you don't want to talk about it, I won't push you, I just want to make sure everything was...um, alright?" Realization dawned on her.

"He didn't force me, if that's what you're asking." she promised. She felt him relax around her. "Truth be told, though, I cannot say it was an enjoyable experience." He pulled away to look at her, urging her to continue. She wasn't completely comfortable discussing it, but given that in a very short time, she would be doing the same activity with the man beside her, she decided it was best to push on. "It hurt...a lot. Afterwards, he left so quickly I didn't even have a chance to say good night. He left Scotland that week, I wrote to Chichester, and, well you know the rest."

"I'm sorry."

"It's alright." she replied. "I've been thinking about it a lot and I'm glad it happened. At least now, I know what to expect." Patrick stared at her in disbelief.

"What to expect?" he asked in slight horror.

"On our wedding night, I mean." she clarified shyly. "I know how much pain to expect, so I won't think you're trying to hurt me."

Patrick blinked slowly as he wracked his brain for the right thing to say. He wasn't angry with her, and he never would be, not for this, but by God he was furious with the man who'd let her think so little of herself.

"Shelagh," he spoke slowly, "whomever he was...it shouldn't hurt you...it should feel good." Shelagh didn't look convinced, but now was determined not to let her leave the flat without changing her mind. He refused to let her spend one more second of their engagement dreading their marriage. "May I kiss you?" he asked gently. She nodded, unsure of his motives, but willing to trust him.

He cradled her chin in his hand and slowly melted his lips against hers. His body begged for the passion from earlier in their evening, but he was going to take this slow. He needed her to feel his every touch, no matter how delicate. She ardently returned his kisses and felt a weight leave her chest as his hands slid their way along her curves and over her breasts. He still wanted her. He wasn't leaving.

Fear of rejection no longer stopped her fingers and she made her way, inch by inch down the buttons of his shirt. She moved to push it down his arms, but he stopped her.

"Let this be about you." he whispered.

"I want to see you." she sighed eagerly. "Please."

Patrick nodded, unwilling to deny her anything in that moment, and helped her rid himself of his button-down. Her hands couldn't resist the pull of his bared skin and she whimpered at how warm he was. Despite the impending pain, a part of her didn't want to stop, but she also didn't want this to be like the last time.

"Patrick, I still want to wait until our wedding night."

He smiled. So did he, that didn't mean their night had to be over.

"I promise we will." His words suggested stopping, but his hands, which were now fully under her blouse, suggested otherwise. She should stop him, she knew that, but then he slipped beneath her slip and he bit softly against her neck and she was lost. His hands on her breasts were heavenly and she couldn't understand her body's desperate desire for something she knew was so unpleasant. "It's okay." he simply whispered.

"I want…" she didn't know what she wanted, all she knew was that if he stopped, she'd be miserable. He kissed his way to the top of her blouse.

"What do you want, sweetheart?"

She pulled at the hem of her blouse until it untucked from her skirt. Patrick met her hands and together, they pulled it over her head. Her hair fell in disarray around her face, the soft curls falling just at the thin white straps of her slip.

"You promise we won't have intercourse?" she managed to ask, though her voice was noticeably deeper than when her shirt had been on her body. He took her hands and delicately kissed her engagement ring.

"I swear on my life." and he did. "I just want to make you happy."

"You do make me happy." she insisted. He grinned, his hands reaching for her skirt zipper.

"Then I want to make you even happier." he cheekily replied. He slid off the couch to kneel in front of her. "May I?" She nodded and he carefully undid her zipper and slipped her skirt down her legs. "Tell me to stop at any time." he insisted. Shelagh nodded, though she had a feeling she would be doing no such thing.

One by one, he pulled the silky stockings from her skin, relishing in the shiver she gave as he kissed down each leg as he did so. Her muscles felt like jelly, but impossibly tense at the same time. It wasn't possible that this was the same activity she'd partaken in all those years ago. It hadn't felt this good, she hadn't felt so warm, and she definitely hadn't wanted to take that soldier's hand and put it-

"Oh!" She gasped at the feeling of his fingers stroking at her through her panties and he groaned as he felt the growing dampness where she was pushing her hips towards him. He pushed her panties aside and his thumb traced agonizingly slowly through her folds until he reached his destination. Shelagh bucked against him and bit down on her hand out of terror that she might wake Timothy. He rubbed gently circles against her, coaxing her higher and higher. "Patrick...I…can't…"

He could feel her holding back and he realized if her first time was that awful, there was no way she'd ever had an orgasm before. Hoping against hope that she wouldn't stop him, he pressed his mouth aggressively against her center, moaning himself when she clutched his hair in her fist. His tongue worked vigorously with his hand until she was keening into her palm until finally, her thighs clench tight around his shoulders and he felt her body shudder through her release.

He stroked her legs gently as she came down and moved back up to sit beside her.

"Are you alright?" he asked, somewhat nervously.

"Better than alright." she panted. Her eyes turned serious. "I love you."

He kissed her firmly, determined to destroy any remaining doubts in her heart. "I will always love you, Shelagh." She smiled brighter than she had in days.

She went to reach for his hand, but accidentally brushed against the bulge in his pants.

"Patrick, what about, um-"

"Don't worry about me." he assured, though he desperately wanted to satisfy her curiosity.

"Next time?" she asked shyly, though the gleam in her eyes told him she was more than confident in the offer and eager to explore this part of their relationship.

"Let's get you home." he said determinedly. If they didn't leave now, they never would.

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Tumblr Prompt: What if Patrick wasn't Shelagh's first sexual partner? Hope you enjoyed the kettles! :P


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